


Nigh Nonexistant

by ChaoticOdds



Category: Orbiting Human Circus of the Air (Podcast), the second imaginary symphony
Genre: First In The Fandom, Funeral, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, the orbiting human circus of the air - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28566954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticOdds/pseuds/ChaoticOdds
Summary: A continuation of the story of The Second Imaginary Symphony, beginning 4 years after the events of the Symphony itself. Nigh cannot help but grow older (as none of of can), but does he have to be a "grownup?"[I  cannot stress enough how much of a WIP this is]
Kudos: 1





	Nigh Nonexistant

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so this is my first "fan fiction" that I've "uploaded" onto this "website" and it's not finished so don't judge me. I noticed that there didn't seem to be any stuff for The Second Imaginary Symphony, and I didn't know whether it should count as it's own fandom (seeing as how it's a separate story from OHC which exists as a story in the cannon) or at part of the OHC fandom. So I opted for both. Sort of. I'm leaning more towards the former.
> 
> Speaking of thing that aren't finished, the title is just a sort of working title/placeholder until I come up with something better. It was just a phrase that is vaguely relevant and sounded cool. Might change it, might not, who knows? I might forget I wrote this and never add to it again? Wouldn't that be something?  
> Honestly I don't know anything about how this is gonna turn out. The diction, the formatting, all of it is subject to change at any given point. So be aware of that I guess.

Several blocks west and a few steps south of Telegraph Road sat a tall and wobbly church. Nigh thought that at any moment a stiff breeze could topple the steeple right off. Holding his grandmother’s hand and dressed in his Sunday best the two of them entered through a creaky pair of doors. The inside of the building was just as old. The carpets were well-trodden-on, and lights without lampshades flicked from their wall sconces.

They were greeted by a rotund man who was shuffling about the floor from place to place, making polite conversation with everyone in sight. “My name is Hugh and I’ll be the director. And you?”

Nigh noticed just how much more nicely he the man was dressed much more nicely than the rest of the people. His shoes were so polished that he could see himself staring right back at him when he looked into them. And his clothes seemed much more well kempt, with not a single wrinkle, nor a speck of lint. After introductions Nigh went ahead to find a seat in the chapel, where the rest of the guests had already gathered. He never liked answering questions from strangers and to Nigh, this was no different.

Nigh was by far the youngest person in the building, and he could tell that it was starting to draw attention. From all around the room the people sitting in small clusters took turns glancing at him, then whispering to whoever's nearest. But what really caught Nigh’s interest was the big box at the front of the chapel, just in front of the podium. Just as he started walking towards it one of the many grownups who milled about the room stopped him. She was a tall lady with long, silver hair, Nigh recognized her as one of the many women who worked at the factory just over the big hill near Telegraph Road.

“Excuse me, young man,” she said, “but are you sure you want to…” she glanced back at the box, searching for the right words. “Are you here with any parents?”

“My grandma.” Nigh said. “She’s back there, talking to the director.” He pointed at the doorway.

“Do you know what’s going on here?”

Nigh wasn’t sure about how to answer her question, or if indeed he had an answer at all. Nobody had sat him down to explain just what was happening, but several weeks ago his grandmother told him that Mr.Ackerman had been involved in some sort of accident, and was in the hospital. Afterwards, she informed Nigh that Mr.Ackerman had passed on. Though at no point did she tell Nigh any of the fine details.

It was another one of those things, such as the secret Mr.Ackerman confided in him years ago, that grownups were determined not to discuss at great length. Things unfit for the ears of a little boy. Though by now Nigh was less little of a boy than he used to be. People are less gentile with thirteen-year-olds than they are with nine-year-olds, Nigh thought.

Nigh knew only partially about death. He knew that it fell into both categories of things grownups hated talking about. Both unfit for his ears, and uncomfortable to discuss. He knew that the frogs that his class once dissected were dead, but Nigh never knew those dead thing as beings which once lived and breathed, and conversely, Mr.Ackerman was someone who lived and breathed, so, as the woman explained some of the unpleasant details of the situation to Nigh, there was an air of confusion about him. It did not add up.


End file.
